After Rebirth, I Married my Archenemy - Chapter 11

There were three people in the room: Ah Meng, Ah Jiang, and Ruo Chan.

Lan Yue, one of Zheng Zhi Yi’s maids from her personal household, had been promoted to a second-class attendant in charge of garments after entering the palace. As she served Zheng Zhi Yi at night, she no longer had to sleep in the servant quarters.

Qun Qing’s makeshift bed was laid out near the door. As she lifted the blanket, she felt the damp chill of the bedding. Lighting a small lamp, she saw that the tea from the night before had spilled all over her bed. Glancing at the three figures in the room, they appeared to be fast asleep, not making a sound.

Qun Qing had experienced an easy path during her early years in the palace, so although she had heard of the petty bullying tactics among the maids, this was the first time she had faced them herself.

Observing their peaceful sleep, she pushed the wet blanket aside, reached over to the blanket next to her, and quietly tugged it away. The person beside her was Ruo Chan, her closed eyes betraying her with the slight trembling of her lashes.

Ruo Chan was only pretending to be asleep. Even when her blanket was taken, she remained motionless out of fear. As Qun Qing pulled the blanket over herself, she noticed a red string tied around Ruo Chan’s wrist, from which hung a peachwood talisman.

A Taoist priestess? Qun Qing mused. What had the Dachen court come to, if even underage priestesses were serving as palace maids? This would have been considered absurd in Chu.

After a brief pause, Qun Qing returned the blanket to Ruo Chan and instead covered herself with her outer robe.

In the darkness, Ruo Chan suddenly grabbed Qun Qing’s wrist.

Startled, Qun Qing stilled as Ruo Chan gently guided her hand toward something hidden in the bedding. Her fingers touched a long, slender sewing needle concealed beneath the covers. Ruo Chan withdrew her hand, leaving Qun Qing to carefully pull out the needle. Without Ruo Chan’s warning, rolling over in her sleep could have resulted in a painful prick. The coldness of the needle seeped into her fingertips, chilling her to the core.

Qun Qing toyed with the sharp, icy needle between her fingers. She wasn’t afraid of such things—her mother had made her practice embroidery for years when she was young, and needles had been her familiar companions for much of her life.

It had been a long time since I practiced martial arts, she thought, contemplating the needle in her hand. I wonder if my aim is still accurate.

With that, Qun Qing gathered some strength, aimed, and threw the needle into the darkness.

A loud bang echoed through the room as the teapot on the shelf shattered into pieces.

Ah Meng woke up screaming as shards of pottery and cold water splattered over her. Frantically slapping herself, she turned to Ah Jiang, accusingly. 

“Why didn’t you close the window? The wind knocked the teapot over!”

Ah Jiang, equally startled, snapped back, 

“Was it me who forgot, or was it you?”

“It was obviously you! Oh, what bad luck…”

Both women, frightened and irritated, hurried to clean up the mess. Their bedding and clothes were now soaked, making it impossible for them to sleep comfortably. Though they sensed something strange, they cast a wary glance at Qun Qing, who lay there innocently, wrapped snugly in her outer robe like a peaceful cocoon, far from the broken teapot.

“This is really weird,” Ah Meng muttered, rubbing her twitching eyelid. “I’ve had a bad feeling all night.”

But by then, Qun Qing had already drifted into a deep sleep. For the first time in years, the burden of the princess and the weight of restoring the kingdom seemed to lift from her shoulders, allowing her to rest soundly.

The food in Lady Zheng’s palace was also delicious. Although Li Xuan didn’t favor her, he never neglected her meals. Daily deliveries of rice, fish, lamb, and fresh bamboo shoots arrived, and Liu, the palace chef, transformed these ingredients into creative dishes that lived up to her reputation.

Ah Meng and Ah Jiang’s disdainful glances didn’t faze Qun Qing in the slightest. 

“Look at her,” Ah Meng sneered, “she’s from the Servants’ Yard, eating like she’s never had a decent meal before.”

But Qun Qing paid them no mind. She stirred her rice with a wooden spoon, mixing it into the rich fish stew, letting each grain absorb the flavor before taking a large, satisfying bite.

How had I never realized how good the food was before? she mused.

In the mirror, she noticed her once thin cheeks filling out, a rosy tint brightening her complexion. Her eyes sparkled with new life. She had even grown a few inches taller, her hair thicker, and the constant dizziness and trembling hands from holding a needle had vanished. Now, she could throw an embroidery needle with such precision that it would unlatch a window, letting the cold air wake Ah Meng in the middle of the night.

Only those who had endured long-term illness could fully appreciate how blissful it felt to have a healthy body.

By the tenth day, there was still no sign of Lu Huating—or anyone else for that matter. Qun Qing concluded that she had likely passed Su Run’s test, another obstacle cleared on her path to survival.

That evening, Qun Qing opened a letter from Fang Xie. If memory served, Fang Xie had slipped the letter into her bundle a year ago when she insisted on entering the palace. In her previous life, she hadn’t opened it—burdened by too many attachments, she had found it harder to face death. But now, in this life, she decided to read it.

Unfolding the letter, she found it filled with warnings. Fang Xie had written:

“Elder Sister, your life was saved by me and Master. You owe us a life, and you can’t just throw it away. I beg you to protect yourself.”

On the second page, his tone softened:

“Elder Sister, Master has gone south to search for your mother. I’m waiting for you here in Apothecary Pavillion. Once you leave the palace, the Apothecary Pavillion will be your home. Just like before, we’ll gather herbs, treat patients, and save lives together. How about that?”

Qun Qing quickly folded the letter when she sensed Ah Meng lurking behind her. Upon being caught, Ah Meng scowled. 

“What are you hiding so secretively?”

“Just a family letter,” Qun Qing said calmly, tidying up her bundle and placing it at the foot of her bed. “Curious? Or maybe no one in your family bothers to write to you?”

“You—!” Ah Meng, visibly wounded by the remark, stormed off in a fury.

Perhaps it was because Fang Xie’s letter mentioned her mother, but that night, Qun Qing dreamed of her.

In the dream, Zhu Ying was skillfully straightening boiled silk threads, winding them into neat balls. Qun Qing held the thread up with both hands, while her mother smiled and asked, 

“The lamb leg your father brought back from hunting—do you want it roasted or stewed?”

The flickering candlelight in Qun Qing’s dream suddenly shattered, plunging her into a chaotic memory—the eve of the country’s fall, the day her mother mysteriously disappeared.

Her father’s voice echoed through the turmoil as he pounded the table in frustration, 

“I warned her long ago! Could I stop her? At such a chaotic time, we should have all stayed together. She never thought of you or your brother!”

This scene took place ten days after Imperial Son-in-Law Ling Yunyi and Huaiyuan Military Governor Li Feng had rescued the emperor. The palace had been celebrating the retreat of the Beirong army, and the safe return of the Chu Emperor and Princess Changping to the capital seemed like a victory secured by their loyal officials. No one had expected another upheaval.

After driving away the Beirong forces, the Li family and Ling Yunyi revealed their true ambitions. On the journey back to the capital, they imprisoned the emperor and the princess, forcing them to march southward, plotting to seize control of the dynasty. Ling Yunyi, cold-blooded in his pursuit of power, captured his own eleven-year-old son, Ling Yunnuo—born to Princess Changping—and declared him the “Acting King.” It was clear he planned to use the boy as a puppet, leveraging both families to control the court.

Shi Yuming, in a panic, said, 

“Could it be that Princess Changping sent a message to Mother? She was the princess’s personal maid, after all. They shared a deep bond. If the princess is in danger, Mother must have gone to help her. She might already be by her side.”

Their father’s voice trembled with emotion, 

“What good would it do? Rumors say the princess is already dead, and even the Acting King has passed away with her!”

The news stunned Shi Yuming and Qun Qing into silence.

Princess Changping, Yang Yi, was known for her unyielding spirit. When the Chu Emperor became consumed by Daoist practices, leaving court affairs in disarray, she shouldered the burdens of governance. Her husband’s betrayal was unforgivable, and she would never allow her young son to become a mere pawn in their power struggle. Faced with unbearable despair, she took matters into her own hands. Seizing an opportunity, she set fire to the woodshed where the Acting King was being held captive, ensuring her son would never be used against her. Then, in her final act of defiance, she threw herself into the turbulent waters of the river.

If the rumors were true, Princess Changping was dead, along with the Li family’s hope of controlling the throne. And if Zhu Ying had gone to aid her, she was likely in great peril as well.

Still young and unprepared for the violent upheaval of rebellion, Shi Yuming and Qun Qing stood frozen in shock. Shi Yuming’s sword slipped from his trembling hand, clattering loudly against the ground, an ominous echo in the chaos of their unraveling world.

Qun Qing sat in the empty embroidery room, her mother’s absence weighing heavily on her. The room, once filled with warmth, now felt hollow. Her eyes landed on the unfinished peach-and-rabbit hair ribbon her mother had been embroidering for her sixteenth birthday. The sight of it made her heart ache.

She couldn’t accept that her mother had left without a word, leaving her and Shi Yuming behind. So, while her brother sobbed in despair, Qun Qing stubbornly searched through the embroidery room—their secret space, a place only she and her mother shared. It was where they whispered secrets, unseen by her father or Shi Yuming.

She rummaged through everything, turning the room upside down, and finally found the lamb-shaped sachet. Inside, she discovered what her mother had left for her— Xiangsi Yin poison pills.

Encased in snake-scale glue and sealed in a water-tight bottle, the pills looked like two golden cat’s eyes nestled together. Alongside them was a slip of paper in her mother’s hurried handwriting:

“Liu Niang, I have made my decision. There’s no need to search for me. I leave you this protection—a poison among poisons, incurable. The Cold Fragrance Pill can suppress it, and Yellow Vanilla and Rosemary can ease its effects. The glue dissolves in gold, and once exposed to water, toxic fumes will be released. Do not use it unless absolutely necessary.”

The note also described the symptoms of poisoning, much like what Qun Qing had shared with Lu Huating.

Half-awake from the memory, Qun Qing suddenly felt something odd beneath her legs. Her bundle, resting under them, contained this most lethal poison. If even a crack in the glue occurred, the consequences could be fatal. She sprang to her feet instantly, startling the three people around her, who fell back in shock.

The half-open bundle tumbled to the floor, and by the dim candlelight, she saw the startled faces of Ah Meng, Ah Jiang, and Ruochan. Qun Qing’s face was pale, tear-streaked, but her eyes held a chilling coldness.

Ah Jiang, scared by her expression, pushed the bundle toward her, stammering, 

“We didn’t do anything! Who would even want this junk? You keep this bundle by your side, guarding it like treasure. Sister Lanyue made us check to see if you stole anything from the quarters and hid it in here!” 

She hurriedly stuffed the letter back into the bundle, her hands trembling.

Qun Qing quickly checked her belongings. Everything was intact, though it had clearly been searched. Without saying a word, she began retying the bundle.

Ah Meng, irritated by her own cowardice in front of a mere servant girl, grabbed the bundle with both hands. 

“Who do you think you are? All of us have had our things checked. Why should you be special? Hand it over! We’ll go through it today!”

In an instant, Qun Qing grabbed Ah Meng’s wrist and pushed her backward. Ah Meng, caught off guard, fell and hit the back of her head on the floor.

Stunned for a moment, Ah Meng scrambled to her feet, screaming, 

“You dare hit me?”

Ah Jiang shouted, “There are three of us! Can’t we pin down one person? Come on!” 

She lunged at Qun Qing and called for Ruochan to help. 

“Ruochan, get over here! If you don’t help us pin her down, we’ll beat you to death afterward!”

Qun Qing was pressed against the cold floor, but her hands moved swiftly, slipping through their grasp like a fish. She caught Ruochan’s arm, twisted it, and threw her onto Ah Meng. The two girls tumbled together, and in that moment, Qun Qing sprang up, grabbing Ah Jiang by the throat and stacking her on top of Ruochan.

The commotion knocked over a candlestick, and the candle rolled onto the bedding. Ignoring the pain, Ah Jiang and Ruochan screamed as they frantically slapped at the flames.

Ah Meng, trying to get up again, suddenly froze. Lying among the messy bedding, she stared wide-eyed at Qun Qing. A cold iron rod, the one used to secure the window, was pressed against Ah Meng’s neck like a blade. Everything had happened too fast; Ah Meng wasn’t even sure when Qun Qing had grabbed it.

Qun Qing, usually so unremarkable, exuded a deadly aura tonight. Her dark eyes, in the midst of her otherwise expressionless face, were ghostly cold.

In just a few breaths, Qun Qing’s intense calm returned. She realized she had lost control of her emotions. The skills she had just displayed were not those of a palace maid, but of someone much more dangerous.

“Do you know why, among all the servant girls in Yeting, I was the one chosen?” Qun Qing asked, her voice low as she lightly patted Ah Meng’s cheek. 

“Have you ever been to Yeting?”

Ah Meng, terrified, shook her head in silence.

Qun Qing’s voice was cold as she spoke. 

“Being the lowest of slaves in the palace, everyone in Yeting has their own frustrations. Those who can’t bear the abuse have already bashed their heads in. How could anyone who survived not have some skills? I fought my way up from Yeting since I was a child; everyone there knew to stay away. But you all dare to challenge me.”

Imagining that scene, Ah Meng’s teeth began to chatter. The fear was visible in her eyes.

Ah Jiang, who had been gearing up to fight back, faltered. Listening to Qun Qing’s words, the fear she tried to suppress began to surface. Ruochan had already started sobbing, too scared to move.

“You followed Lanyue’s rules to bully me, but from today, the rules change.” Qun Qing’s grip tightened on Ah Meng’s face. 

“Anyone who dares cross me again will learn about the rules of Yeting. Apologize to me.”

Her voice rose with authority, and all three instantly stammered out their apologies, their fear evident.

With a sharp motion, Qun Qing moved the iron rod away from Ah Meng’s throat, who immediately coughed violently, the rust-marked bruise on her neck leaving a purple-blue stain—a visible reminder of the danger they had just escaped. The sight left the others thoroughly frightened.

As Qun Qing went to hang the iron rod back by the window, she caught sight of Ah Jiang scrambling onto the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and watching Qun Qing obediently. Seeing this, Ah Meng stiffly lay down beside her, mimicking her fear.

Qun Qing hesitated, weighing the rod in her hands, finding it unexpectedly useful. Deciding to keep it close, she placed it beside her own bed. She lay down, pulling the covers over herself, while the three girls silently watched, not daring to close their eyes until they were sure she was still for a long time.

That night, the room was unusually quiet, with only the sound of soft, stifled sobs breaking the silence—Ruochan’s faint weeping.

Qun Qing opened her eyes and sighed. 

“Now what’s wrong?”

Under the dim light, Ruochan clutched a sleeve robe in her hands. 

“Earlier… you, you threw me onto the candlestick, and the robe that Her Majesty gave to Liangdi got burned. I worked five days to mend it, but I ran out of thread. Liangdi won’t spare me tomorrow.”

The robe was one of Zheng Zhiyi’s favorites, made of luxurious gold-colored silk and embroidered with peacock feathers in gold thread. Ruochan had spent days mending the robe, using a precious length of gold thread from the Bureau of Attire. Now, with the sleeve burnt, the robe was ruined, and the remaining gold thread wasn’t enough to repair the damage.

Qun Qing held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

Ruochan, though knowing the situation was bleak, handed the robe over, hoping for a miracle.

Qun Qing inspected the burn. The sleeve had a blackened tear, and just as Ruochan said, only three strands of gold thread remained. Not enough to finish the repair. Worse yet, stitching gold thread onto gold fabric would look crude and uneven. Reapplying for more thread from the Bureau of Attire would draw attention and reveal the mistake.

Rubbing the thin, cicada-wing silk between her fingers, Qun Qing looked at Ruochan. 

“I originally didn’t want to help you. Do you know why?”

Ruochan’s voice trembled as she answered. 

“B-because earlier, you, you also hit me… Even if you were forced to, it’s still hitting me.”

Qun Qing’s gaze was icy. 

“I can help those who are weak, but I never help those who don’t show gratitude.” She pulled out the remaining gold thread and met Ruochan’s teary eyes. “If I help you get through this, how will you repay me? From now on, I want you to do half of my cleaning work.”

Ruochan nodded eagerly, her relief palpable.

Qun Qing’s voice grew more serious. 

“I also want you never to betray me, not even if you’re forced.”

Ruochan hesitated, her face flushing with shame. After a pause, she nodded again, wiping her tears with her sleeves, though guilt weighed heavily on her. She still didn’t understand how Qun Qing could fix the robe, after all—it was burned beyond repair!

Qun Qing wasn’t finished. “The third thing,” she said, pulling the gold thread taut between her fingers. Her long, delicate hands held the thread with precision, her thumbnail pressing down smoothly on it, flicking it lightly.

Ruochan’s breath caught as she watched, her eyes widening in disbelief. The fine gold thread, seemingly impossible to break, split in two.

Qun Qing’s fingers deftly flicked the gold thread once more, splitting it further into two strands as fine as silkworm silk. The technique of creating gold thread involved drawing gold foil into a fine wire and weaving it with multiple silk strands, but Qun Qing had masterfully unraveled them, returning the silk threads to their original state.

As she separated the gold from the thread, she neatly organized the nine silk strands she had extracted, cutting away the scorched parts. With delicate precision, she threaded the needle, her movements smooth and methodical. Ruochan watched her work, transfixed, as if witnessing a miracle unfold.

Qun Qing’s dark hair cascaded over her shoulders as she concentrated on the intricate work. Her profile appeared cold and focused, though her hands moved with growing familiarity. Each stitch mimicked the original texture of the sha silk, seamlessly closing the tear. Under her careful touch, the burn mark gradually disappeared, blending into the elegant peacock feathers, as if the damage had never existed.

Finally, Qun Qing handed the robe back to Ruochan. “The third thing,” she said quietly. 

“Pray for my safety.”

“W-what?” Ruochan stammered, confused.

“You’re a Daoist nun, aren’t you? You should know how to perform rituals,” Qun Qing added, placing a sachet embroidered with a ram’s head on her pillow.

Ruochan blinked in shock, her secret identity now exposed. She hesitated but quickly lowered her head in a respectful salute. 

“My lady believes in spirits? Then that’s even better. This item—this talisman—is blessed, and I will use all my knowledge to pray for my lady’s safety!”

Qun Qing gave a satisfied nod, then lay down, her expression unreadable. Living as a spy meant walking a razor-thin line between life and death. Even praying for survival had become a routine part of life.

The sachet Ruochan now considered a talisman wasn’t far from the truth. Inside were a belt buckle and two sword tassels, mementos from her grandfather and Shi Yuming—objects that represented the last traces they had left in this world.

Ah Meng and Ah Jiang had been silently listening to the exchange. At that moment, Ah Jiang could no longer hold it in. She sat up suddenly, pulling out a gold ingot from under her pillow. 

“Sister Qing, I’ll call you ‘sister’ because you’re capable, and you’ll find out sooner or later: Ah Meng and I didn’t make things hard for you on our own. It was Bao Shu from Luanyi Pavilion who secretly paid us to teach you a lesson!”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Enjoying this chapter? Treat me to a cup of coffee and brighten my day! ☕💖